


Slowly

by Distractivate



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Episode: s06e14 Happy Ending, Fluff, Gifts, Husbands, M/M, Missing Scene, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distractivate/pseuds/Distractivate
Summary: It doesn’t feel different right away. Nothing changes. Not really.Alexis walks him down the aisle. His mother gives a speech. They exchange their vows. David cries. A lot. They both smile. A lot. They kiss. The end. The beginning.A bit of wedding night fluff.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 82
Kudos: 243





	Slowly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Likerealpeopledo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likerealpeopledo/gifts).



It doesn’t feel different right away. Nothing changes. Not really. 

Alexis walks him down the aisle. His mother gives a speech. They exchange their vows. David cries. A lot. They both smile. A lot. They kiss. The end. The beginning.

The rest of the day is loud and overflowing. Ray ushers them cheerfully, tearfully through photos. Everyone helps change over the space for the reception. 

They commandeer the town hall’s storage room in search of flatware, which Patrick hid in there earlier on purpose. They have to be efficient enough to leave a shadow of doubt about what they’re really doing, so Patrick drops to his knees as soon as they shut the door. 

It must be dark under David’s skirt, but he knows the way to his favorite places. Slowly, he feels his way through fine hairs and smooth skin until his hands are twisted up in silk and lace at his hips, until his mouth is full of David and David’s mouth is full of his name. 

Patrick holds him until he stops trembling, and then sets about smoothing his skirt into place with the kind of precision and care that says, _I meant every promise_. 

Still in a stupor, David murmurs, “Can we just do this forever?” 

Patrick glances up at him, rises slowly. “That’s the plan,” he says, and something shifts in the tiny space between them. Then he kisses him with a sharp heat until David is pushing his tie out of the way and fumbling at the clasp of his belt and there’s no way they’ll be back before people move past wondering and into knowing what they’re up to.

They return with the flatware in time for dinner, speeches, cake, dancing, laughing. 

The time when they agreed they would leave comes and goes. The only thing Patrick asked for from the day is one hour alone together, which they’re supposed to get tonight. Easier said than done, which is basically the wedding motto at this point. 

David hopes to extract Patrick from a table of Brewers with a hand heavy on his shoulder and a low whisper of, “Take me home.” It works.

They’re sober enough to drive but Stevie and Alexis have covered the car with streamers and silly string and they’re way too tired for that, so they set off on foot down the street.

They walk slowly. The moon is nearly full, casting Patrick’s face in gradations of blue. His tie is loose. A tuft of hair is poking sideways from Mrs. Brewer’s exuberant goodnight hug.

He thinks he isn’t going to say it until he does. “Is it weird that part of me just wants to lay in bed with you and hold each other until we fall asleep? That seems kind of anti-climactic.”

“Well. You’ve had a busy day, and a lot of orgasms already,” Patrick jokes, and a lingering tightness in David’s chest releases. “And I have you all to myself tomorrow after brunch with my family. Maybe you should rest up.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Both?” Patrick says, eyes big and far more innocent than the ideas whirring around in that horny brain of his.

David tries not to laugh. “Fine. Let's rest up.” 

Patrick loops his arm through David’s. They’re quiet for a few steps, their feet stuttering against the sidewalk as they fall into rhythm together. “David, did I . . . was it okay? Today? I know it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“It wasn’t but . . . I sort of understand those people who say they don’t care where they get married as long as they get to marry each other. I mean I don’t,” he corrects quickly. “No amount of fairy lights can make Roland’s living room an acceptable venue. But I get why people say it.”

“I don’t know, David. Jocelyn offered to cater at cost. Imagine the spread of jello salads and Dorito casseroles we could have had.”

“Ew.” David full-body cringes. He can feel Patrick next to him, still hoping for a real answer. “Of course it was fine. You did the best you could,” he says, grinning falsely so Patrick knows the truth.

“Well it was fun being married for—” Patrick checks the watch he’s not wearing. “—six and a half hours.”

“Mmhmm. Honestly, you lasted longer than I thought you would.”

“Aw tanks. I tried.” Patrick kisses him at the door to their apartment, then opens the door for them and follows him in.

“Before we sleep, I have something for you.” Patrick does his man-on-a-mission walk to the closet where he pulls out a thin box wrapped in thick white and black paper. 

“I thought we agreed there were to be no surprise gifts today,” David says, pushing his smile into a pretend pout and plucking up the present with greedy fingers. 

“We did but . . .” Patrick shrugs. “Just open it.”

David’s smile breaks free as he releases the tape slowly and unfolds the wrapping to reveal a narrow frame. 

“It’s the wedding script Fabian composed.” Patrick moves closer while he explains, the nerves jittering at the tips of his fingers. “Did you know he had an entire conversation with me in haikus?”

“He’s a haikuist,” David says, because obviously. 

“Apparently. Anyway it lacks your mother's crow references, but I wanted to give you something from the wedding you planned.”

David skims the wedding script, a series of calligraphed haikus written on handmade paper about two lives becoming one. It’s beautiful, just exactly what he imagined, and it’s still nothing compared to the fresh memory of what actually happened. “Did you do this today?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug like it’s nothing even though he knows it’s everything. 

It could be bittersweet, a reminder of what was lost today. But tracking down a technology-averse haikuist in the midst of chaos is so _Patrick_ , that it only reminds him of what was gained. “Thank you,” David whispers, and then he pulls his husband into a kiss, Patrick's arms closing tightly around him.

David places the frame reverently on his shelf of the wardrobe. When he turns, Patrick is still looking at him like . . . like _that_. So David tells him. “Um. I have something for you too.”

“Really?” His face is all delighted surprise until his inner troll eats it up. “But David, I thought we agreed there were to be no surprise gifts today.” 

David gets up to fetch his gift from his overnight bag. “Yes, well the whole point was that I was supposed to be the only thoughtful one and now you’ve ruined it.”

“How terrible of me.”

“I know,” David says, handing him the present.

Patrick opens it to find the picture David asked Ray to print, taken earlier today. He caught them looking conspiratorially at each other just after they exchanged rings, David still holding Patrick’s hand. Patrick doesn’t even have the wrapping completely off; he’s just looking at the photo, thumb pressing hard into the corner of the frame.

“You said, in your vows, that you couldn’t believe this was happening, and I wanted you—both of us—to believe it. I just thought maybe it would help to see it.”

“David.” He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to. When he gets his eyes going, he can pack a lot into two syllables. 

“I’ve been planning my wedding for a very long time but I think it was more of an activity. Not something I thought would really happen. And I’m just . . . glad it did. You made it beautiful.”

Patrick blinks. Buffers. “Well. It wasn’t just me. It was Roland and Ronnie and Stevie and your father and—”

“Okay, that’s really not the point.”

Patrick turns serious again and smiles at him, so fond, so soft. “David.” he says again, like a skipping record. His eyes are wet, his face happy. He has the kind of glow he gets whenever he’s saved the day. It’s annoying because it’s _annoying_ but it’s also kind of hot and kind of everything he loves about him. Who would have thought someone with such a need to fix things would be the one to show David he didn’t need fixing?

The tears overflow and David hands him a tissue and plays up the told-you-so as he says, “For the record, this is why I didn’t want to do surprise gifts.” It brings Patrick the rest of the way back to him. 

“We should have listened to you,” Patrick says. “I love the gift though.” He kisses him. “And I love you.”

David sets up the frame on the table so they’ll see it in the morning. He saw it on Ray’s camera when he picked the photo, and again when Ray handed him the print, and again when he placed it in the frame and wrapped it. It’s a little different every time, like it’s slowly turning into a photo of them. Or they’re slowly turning into those people. Married. Husbands.

It’s late, and the Roses are leaving early. They’re both exhausted, Patrick especially. And David wasn’t kidding. It sounds amazing to rest his head on Patrick’s shoulder and drift off to sleep, smiling, safe, loved, happy. But he only plans on having one wedding day, and he’s not quite ready for it to end. 

They undress each other slowly, fingers guiding buttons through holes and sliding down zippers and easing hems over hands and feet and heads. They don’t undress each other like this very much anymore, having long ago memorized the ridges and hollows of their bodies. It’s not an exploration now, it’s a mutual awareness, the promise of _I know you_ here and here and here.

It’s a different kind of knowing now. His whole life, he’s felt transparent, like everyone he’s ever met sees right through him. Patrick looks at him, moves against him, like he’s opaque, a person he can only learn the shape of by studying every angle. A person whose angles are worth studying, worth noting when they change.

They rock together slowly, then faster, and the tiredness lifts from him completely as he’s floating, falling, filled, emptied.

“David?” Patrick asks after what must be hours, fingers brushing against his scalp as he sweeps them through his hair. David shrugs in hopes of conveying something like _I’m listening_. “Can I call you hubs?”

David smiles against his shoulder. “Absolutely not.”

“Hubby?”

“No.”

“Loverboy?” 

“Oh my _god_.”

“Goodnight, hubs.”

“We’re absolutely not doing hubs.” Patrick’s laughter makes David’s head bounce up and down on his shoulder. He reaches across him for the lamp switch and glares at him for good measure before he flips it off. 

“Goodnight, husband,” he whispers as David returns to his spot, their bodies still naked and warm. 

“G-goodnight,” David says. And even though he doesn’t say it, he thinks _husband_ as he drifts off to sleep at last. 

They wake up too early, the picture on the table, the ring on his finger, confirmation that it happened. They’re married. It’s still happening. 

They dress in the first clothes they can find. They hug his parents. Say goodbye. The end. The beginning. 

It doesn’t feel different right away. There’s no one moment that splits before from after. But slowly, slowly, _married _seeps into his bones, easing the tiredness of the day, tracing the paths left by happiness, padding the fragile places where his anxieties take root. And everything changes for the better.__

**Author's Note:**

> Likerealpeopledo: It was very convenient of David and Patrick to marry on this particularly meaningful day and give me an excuse to celebrate you, too. The title is from the English translation of _Despacito_ , which hopefully means something to you (if not, it’s still your fault). Hope you have a great day. 
> 
> There is one intentional typo and probably some unintentional ones. My apologies for both.
> 
> Special thanks to Pants who helped me brainstorm ideas for this fic when I thought I knew what it was going to be about (I was wrong).


End file.
